


The Detective and the Thief

by Smiley5494



Series: English Assignments [7]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Art Theft, Detective/Thief, First Dates, Fluff, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:14:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27004894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smiley5494/pseuds/Smiley5494
Summary: A detective and a thief go on a date.
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Series: English Assignments [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1671247
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	The Detective and the Thief

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [you think you’re the one playing me? think again](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/700741) by yourheartonfire. 



> inspired by the prompt: deception.  
> also inspired by that one tumblr post i read a while ago about the detective and the thief on a date.
> 
> I went back and found it and linked it.

“Hello,” said the detective, sitting down opposite the thief. The restaurant was quiet, only a few people inside and none sitting within earshot.

“Hello,” the thief repeated, as the kindly waitress asked for their orders. The two of them ordered similar meals, and the detective pulled out a bottle of wine. He poured a generous helping into each of the glasses.

“I hope you don’t mind,” he was saying as he took a long sip, “if I complain a bit about work.”

“Not at all,” the thief responded, also taking a sip. It was quality wine, expensive.

“It’s just,” the detective continued as though the thief hadn’t said anything, “we’re nearing a breakthrough on the art theft.”

The thief leant forward, interested despite his original misgivings. When the detective had asked to meet him—out of the blue—and arranged the venue, the thief hadn’t a single clue on what he should do. Naturally, he had accepted, wanting to know where the detective was going with the whole scenario.

“Yes,” the detective said, noting the thief’s interest. “I absolutely _abhor_ art thieves. They steal all those masterpieces and for what? They can’t display them anywhere or they’ll get busted, they can’t brag about it or we’ll get a call. What’s the point?”

The detective’s complaining _was_ entertaining, the thief mused as he listened. The detective took another sip, clearly tipsy, the wine loosening his tongue. They sat in silence for a few moments as the waitress placed their meals in front of them. The thief only started to eat when the detective did, it _was_ good, only the best from a high-quality restaurant, and the thief smiled slightly.

“This meal is pretty good,” the thief said, starting another conversation, one on a more _equal_ topic than work.

“Indeed,” said the detective, he started to say more, but was interrupted by the sound of his phone ringing, “I’m sorry, I have to take this.”

The thief leant back with a nod for the detective to answer and pretended not to listen. The detective didn’t get up to answer, merely moved his chair back and turned slightly away. The thief blamed the alcohol for that, but not too much, being close enough to listen in was nice. It felt like a tender kind of trust.

“Hello?” There was a beat as the detective listened to whoever was on the other end, then, “what do you mean there’s nothing there? I told you, we watched it.”

Another beat, where the thief ate some more and sipped at his own wine. The detective was looking disappointedly at nothing. If one could make something spontaneously combust, the thief was sure that the carpet would be on fire.

“No,” said the detective sharply, “I can’t; I’m on a date.”

The thief flushed darkly, nearly choking on his wine. _A date_. If the detective said that this was a date, who was he to argue?

“Sorry about that,” the detective said, turning back towards the thief and drinking some more wine, “We’ve been watching this place near the eastern coast—next to the docks, you know?—but _apparently,_ it’s clear.”

“You don’t think so?” The thief asked, carefully keeping his features neutral and his interest minimal.

“No,” the detective agreed, sounding simultaneously proud and humble, “I watched them take the art there, only a short while ago; I just hope they haven’t ruined it.”

“How so?”

“Art thieves destroy the art if they think they’re close to being caught,” the detective answered, now appearing quite tipsy, or just a bit drunk, “just dissolve it and _boom_ , masterpiece gone forever.”

The thief frowned, “what’s the point then? Of taking the art, if they’re only going to destroy it?”

“Who knows,” said the detective, waving his hand in a vague drunk-like movement, then he too frowned—his frown was the sort of frown that came about when one had an idea, “there should be a thief who steals art from other thieves.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah!” The detective took another long sip of his wine and continued, nodding in satisfaction at his own thought process, “and not only that—it’d be much harder to steal from an art thief than a museum. It would be a _true_ demonstration of skill.”

They ate some more, and the thief thought over what the detective was saying. There were a few minutes of comfortable silence before the detective abruptly stood.

“I’m going to wash my face,” the detective said, leaving his phone on the table, “I’m a bit tipsy—be back soon.”

The thief nodded, eyeing the phone with a curious gaze. He didn’t make a move to touch, it too felt like a building block of fragile trust—one he didn’t want to break—but he did finish off his meal by the time the detective came back.

“So,” the thief said lightly, “how would one go about doing one of your hypothetical art thefts?”

The detective smiled and lent forward, nothing drunk or tipsy in his gaze.


End file.
